Brother
by Hashilavalamp
Summary: Madara was the kindred soul he had searched for. Hashirama called him brother because he didn't know what else Madara could be to him.


The seeds for Hashirama's obsession were sewn at the riverbank of his childhood.

Hashirama had carried the dream of peace in his heart for several years, but it was a vague longing, an ache in his heart that robbed him of his breath at night sometimes and knew no direction, no concrete shape. He just wanted to lay down his weapons and hope everyone would do the same.

But that's of course not how the world works.

And so Hashirama unconsciously searched desperately for a kindred soul, anyone who was sick with the same longing, just so he would know he wasn't insane, just so he would have somebody to share the pain with.  
>He used to think Tobirama could relate to him, but Tobirama seemed to walk a different path than him.<p>

Sometimes Hashirama lay awake and thought back to that boy he met once by the stream, that mysterious boy who couldn't make up his mind and got nervous when people stood behind him and couldn't reach the other side and was named  
>Madara.<br>Madara, Hashirama wondered why he remembered him so vividly. Dwelling on a stranger, who could have very well been a spawn of the enemy! does not seem very wise to Hashirama, but he doesn't care about wisdom or potential enemies, because he felt a connection to that boy that soothed the pain in his chest a little and helped him breathe.

It was only when he met Madara again by that river that he understood why he could not forget him and why he had never wanted to.

He had found a kindred soul.

When he spoke with Madara, he could sense it, that part of him, the one that was always reaching out in desperation, it had finally connected with another, the longing residing inside Madara's heart. They connected, and their longing became one.

And it was only through Madara that the little Senju finally understood what it was that he wanted, and how to get there.

They would lie in the grass and Hashirama could see their dreams taking shape.

It was Hashirama who came up with the idea of a village, but how in the world could he have ever gotten there without Madara's help? How could Hashirama ever found his true dream without Madara's input and his guidance and the knowledge that there was someone out there who felt just like him, _dreamed_ like him.

Madara had to be a gift from the gods.

After a while, just being with him was like a dream too, a pleasant daydream in which they didn't know hunger or war and their last precious brothers couldn't die because peace was already there.  
>Leaving the riverbank was always a struggle because it meant waking up.<p>

The awakening that hurt the most though was the sight of Madara's Sharingan.

Perhaps he should have thought it odd that the sight of its bloody red did not instill fear in him, but a deep sadness.

This, he knew, was the last thing his buried brothers had seen before they were taken out of this cruel life in such a violent manner. This was what he looked into whenever he spilled the blood of Madara's kin.

This was how much Madara hurt inside in that moment, so much that he wanted to abandon their dreams, so much that the pain had birthed this

And it saddened Hashirama deeply to see his friend break like that.

And he broke a little when he faced Madara for the first time, not on opposite shores of their river, but on the blood-soaked soil of a battlefield.

That tiny seed of despair planted that day inside his heart took root when he saw that Sharingan glaring at him as if he alone had plunged this forsaken world into this pandemonium, as if it was him beating the war drum since ancient times.  
>Had he lost Madara? Had he lost his dear friend?<p>

Hashirama did not want to believe it, and yet, how could he not—how could he deny what was in front of him?

It was easy.

Hashirama was always skilled in the art of denial.

He admired Madara too much to believe he was lost, and he was too deeply in love with his dream to think it was impossible to realize. Because if Madara dreamed too, then it couldn't, if only he shared this dream with him, then all would be well.

It was around that time that Hashirama began having a different sort of dream at night.

Hashirama told himself there was nothing wrong with them. This was just an unfortunate union of budding sexuality and the things weighing on his mind, no need to be ashamed or disturbed by these images. He would not go around discussing with other boys his age what kind of things he dreamed of at night, because he was aware it could seem strange to others and who talks of such dreams anyway?

And so Hashirama went about his life as if nothing had changed, as if there had been no shift. Because to him, there hadn't really been one. There were worse people to dream about in such scenarios.

Or so he thought, until he was thrust into battle just an hour after waking, still half-asleep and caught up in the images his mind had fabricated over night, and he briefly wondered if Madara struggled with such things too. And wondered if Madara's dreams involved him, like his involved Madara.

The result of these musings was that Hashirama got hard right on the battlefield and had half a mind to run home because facing Madara in a battle to the death in such a state was just deeply inappropriate. Hashirama almost felt like apologizing to Madara, but that would have entailed admitting to his dear friend what he had been pondering, and that would just not do. It would just embarrass the both of them.

Hashirama was endlessly relieved when these dreams finally ceased. That day, he had first felt as if he were somehow doing Madara a disservice, even if the content of those dreams were out of Hashirama's control.  
>Now at least he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore and could finally resume chasing that one dream that mattered. Madara was still reaching back.<br>They could still make it.

Eventually, they did.  
>Hashirama tried not to look too closely at the sacrifices they had to make to get there.<p>

The stiffness of the ceremony to cement the truce between their clans almost physically hurt Hashirama. There it was, the happiest moment of his life, and people expected him to be still and stiff, forcing him to contain his pure euphoria. It was simply unfair, but Hashirama understood that such a never seen event had to be celebrated in a manner that reflected its profound importance.  
>The giddiness threatened to overwhelm him when he put his hand in Madara's and held on to it tightly. How many years had he waited till now? How long had they been building up to this? It hardly mattered anymore.<br>Because they were here, both of them, shaking hands as comrades. As brothers, Hashirama liked to think.  
>Madara stubbornly refused to meet his eye and Hashirama momentarily frowned. His friend was just learning to dream again and still lived in the nightmare they just escaped. Hashirama vowed to help him out of that darkness and teach him again to see the glorious light of their childhood kingdom, the kingdom that would not exist if it were not for Madara.<p>

The Senju did his best to keep his silent promise, made during the night after the handshake when he and Madara shared a tent and Hashirama was just content to watch Madara sleep so peacefully.

One day he invited Madara to his house for dinner, just the two of them.  
>Hashirama had prepared well for this evening, had gathered as much information about Madara's preferences as he could, had changed his attire several times until he came to the conclusion that no matter what, Madara would call him lame, and decided he didn't even mind that and would in fact welcome it.<p>

They did not converse much, or rather, Hashirama spoke until his throat was sore and Madara just listened dutifully, throwing in one or another remark and Hashirama cherished each word, because he could still not believe the dream was reality now and he still expected to be awoken harshly any second now.

Hashirama did not experience the construction of their yet nameless village as a hassle or strain; he felt it was a privilege to be part of the process. And besides, he and Madara got to work together and if that didn't make up for the exhaustion that plagued his body! He hardly felt it during the day, even accepted Madara's frequent challenges to a spar.

In the end, Hashirama still surpassed Madara in taijutsu, he noted with a hint of smugness. Madara put up quite the fight, but each spar still ended with him on his back, cursing and defeated. One time, Hashirama had pinned him to the ground and straddled him, effectively hindering Madara from moving. Madara's facial expression had been nothing but comical, a mixture of shock and indignation of having been defeated in such a manner, and Hashirama could not help but laugh freely, which earned him a few quite insulting nicknames. When his laughter subsided, he did not budge from his position, merely stared down at Madara. A strange feeling took hold of him in that moment, compelling him to move, compelling him to do something, but just like when they were boys, Hashirama did not understand his longing.  
>There was a spark of realization inside the coal black eyes of Madara, a sign that he too experienced this indescribable pull, the sign that once again this was mutual.<br>But Hashirama could not interpret the signs and could not interpret the atmosphere, and he did not move.  
>Madara eventually quickly raised his knee to connect it with Hashirama's crotch, causing the Senju to yelp at the sudden pain and laugh sheepishly, because he somehow felt uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the oddly disappointed look Madara shot him before he scoffed and headed back into the direction of his home without another look at Hashirama.<p>

The question of who would lead Konoha was, truth to be told, never a question to Hashirama. Long before Konoha was constructed, long before Uchiha and Senju lay aside their old grudges to join forces, Hashirama had known that it just had to be Madara who would lead the village.

This was because of a certain aspect of Madara that Hashirama always greatly admired.

Many regarded Madara as harsh and rough, as a natural disaster, a sharp weapon, and Hashirama agreed in the sense that Madara was raw. He was a man with no protective layers to hide his feelings and thoughts under, and Madara never needed them anyway. He did not hesitate to shout out his rage or his grief out to the world for everyone to see, and he never hid his wicked smiles. He was raw, he was honest.

And that was, quite frankly, the last thing Hashirama was. Hashirama possessed a gift, even if he at times regarded it as more of a curse. People always seemed to think that they knew what Hashirama felt and what he thought, that he wore his heart on his sleeve, but in truth Hashirama concealed the truth of his feelings and sealed some of them up so tight that not even he was aware of them anymore. That is not to say that his joy and friendliness were all just his constructed persona, but too many times he smoothed over the raging sea of his emotions with a calm mask of joviality.

He could not be honest, and Konoha deserved a better man than him. And no man was better than Madara. Raw, wonderful Madara.

Hashirama's admiration for his friend knew no end, and one day the village would understand him.

He hoped so, at least.

Before he knew it, Tobirama announced the result of the elections and so Hashirama was forced to take over the office designed for somebody else. It felt wrong, in so many ways, yet there was nothing he could do, and he vowed to do his best as Hokage, to try and be as great the man Konoha deserved, just in his own way.  
>If he couldn't give Konoha honesty, then he would give them benignity.<p>

His heart pounded slow and strangely heavy inside his chest as he spotted a lone dark figure standing upon the cliff the day after his inauguration. The fading sunlight painted the sky in the stunning colors of the day, slowly mixing with the mute somber colors of the night. However, Hashirama doubted it was the beauty of this sight that had lead Madara to this place this evening.

"Madara" he called out, feeling his chest constrict the second Madara turned to greet him with the glare of the Sharingan. This was to be expected, but it was still saddening to him.

"I just wanted to tell you" he began as he stepped closer to Madara, awaiting the moment that the Uchiha would push him away, "that my election as Hokage won't mean that you will no longer have a say in the governing of Konoha anymore."

A bitter smirk tugged at the lips of Madara's too wide mouth at these words, and that seed of despair in Hashirama's chest turned to a sapling, growing rapidly. How could he make Madara see, how could he make him understand?  
>How could he make him believe him?<p>

"Things don't always work the way you want them to" Madara eventually replied, facing away from the Senju and gaze roaming over the village below. "They won't listen to me, and you as a leader can't afford to listen to me too often. You forgot, this village no longer merely consists of Uchiha and Senju. I am now nothing more but another clan leader."

Hashirama did not like the direction this was going into.

"You won, Senju. You finally won."

With those words, Madara whipped around again, his crimson eyes boring accusingly into the dark brown ones of Hashirama, almost making him squirm and fidget. There was something about Madara's expression that greatly unsettled him, a manic gleam in his eye, the corrupting fruit of despair.

Hashirama stumbled a step forward in his desperation to calm his friend, to stop that madness he could see spreading like a disease inside Madara. He raised his hands while not knowing where to put them, torn between wanting to touch Madara and knowing no good would come out of such an action, his words stuck somewhere in his throat.

"You are not just some clan leader, you built this village, just as much as I have-"

"Well, you are alone with that opinion-"

"-and therefore your word should count as much as mine-"

"You can't run a village that way, as soon as we disagree-"

"Madara" Hashirama stated firmly, finally giving in and placing a hand on Madara's shoulder in a manner that he hoped was placating. "I want us to rule this village together. Madara, you are like a brother to me."

A long pause ensued, in which Madara blinked and his tense body relaxed involuntarily as if he were stunned. Hashirama could feel a bead of sweat running down his forehead as his mind was in a hurried frenzy to figure out what this reaction meant.

Finally, Madara let out a loud, barking laugh whose sound was like a slap to the face. Hashirama wished it would stop, but Madara seemed to be unable to, bending over to hold his sides in his uncontrollable laughter.

"Brother?" he panted as he eventually straightened again and got his laughter under control. "Hashirama, do you even know what that word means?"

Madara closed in Hashirama like a predator and it took all of Hashirama's self control to not step back. His chest and Madara's were almost touching, he could feel Madara's harsh breaths on his face when he tilted his head down to look into Madara's eyes.

The question confused him; what was Madara implying? Of course he knew what a brother was, he had had three of them, had loved each of them, and wasn't it the same with Madara? Wasn't he feeling the same for Madara?

Wasn't he?

"Do you really see me as your brother?" Madara inquired, a strangely expectant look on his face.

Hashirama was overwhelmed, he didn't understand anymore what was expected of him.

Madara did not wait for an answer and took several steps backwards, getting dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. There was that disappointment again, the disappointment that Madara exuded at the strangest occasions.

Hashirama was confused and terrified by now and just wanted to sleep and forget he ever had this conversation with Madara.

"Well then, Hokage" Madara scoffed and patted Hashirama on the shoulder as he passed him. "Tobirama must be a lucky man."

Hashirama stayed behind, endlessly puzzled.

But a cold void filled him, the sort of void that overcomes you when you realize you passed up an opportunity of a live time, and you should have taken it, but you didn't and now you will never be able to go back. That kind of void.

Just that even now, Hashirama did not understand what it meant.


End file.
